


there's a possibility

by uniformly



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Disabled Character, Developing Relationship, Insecurity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 22:50:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5023606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uniformly/pseuds/uniformly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe's working on getting his life back on track, and then there's Luz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Night Out

**Author's Note:**

> Ficlets set in [They'll Remember Me for My Youth](http://orkestras.livejournal.com/1698.html) (architect) 'verse back on LJ. You don't necessarily have to read it to understand the collection, but it would help (just remember to read the warnings at the beginning and bear in mind the writing is four years old). All of these were written a year ago.
> 
> As always, portrayals are based on the HBO characters only. If there's anything I've failed to warn for or incorrectly portrayed, please let me know.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luz leans forward, elbows to his knees. “I’d kiss you right now, if you’d let me.”

Joe Toye receives a text an hour or so before he’s to meet Luz. He pulls out his cell and stares at the little envelope on the screen. He’s sure Luz is cancelling, and Joe wouldn’t blame him. Luz could do a lot better than the guy who swindled from the company he works for and lost a leg for it.

He adjusts his grip on the crutch he’s using, ignores how the bar slips a little in his grasp and keys open the text. It starts with, _sorry_ , as it would, Joe supposes, and he reads: _sorry. running late--_ , and Joe thinks, _oh_.

Luz is running late because his next door neighbour, bless her nosy old soul (Luz’s words), needed some help with changing a light bulb or dozen and had wanted to know what Luz was all dressed up for.

The text makes Joe smile, but it fades when he realises that Luz is, apparently, dressed up. Joe looks down at what he’s wearing: jeans and a button up. The right leg of his jeans is rolled up to the knee because there’s nothing there. He’s not self-conscious about it, not anymore, but facsimile of it rises in Joe’s chest. Joe fights it down, distracts himself by texting Luz back. He types, one slow letter at a time, _no big deal_ , and stares at the message for a long moment before he sends it.

In the end, Luz is only five minutes late. Joe probably wouldn’t have even noticed except for the fact that he would, because the five minutes would have been spent telling himself that he’s been stood up. 

“Hey,” Luz says, all smiles as he drops into the seat opposite. 

Joe looks, because he wants to know what dressed up for a… he struggles with ‘date’ and slots in, ‘night out’. The shirt looks new, Joe notes, colour sharp and pulled across Luz’s collarbones, and the jeans are the same pair Luz pulls out whenever they have a casual clothes day in the office.

Joe says, “Hey,” then, “thought you were gonna cancel on me.”

“The hell would I do that for?”

Joe doesn’t feel he needs to explain when it’s perfectly obvious and reaches for the menu instead. 

The night passes without a hitch. Joe lets Luz lead the conversation and hears stories about his internship and early days with Fiveohsix. Every so often, Luz slips in a little about his personal life – his family and siblings, and friends in the complex he lives in. 

Luz also asks Joe things like where he comes from and what he does in his spare time. Joe had paused before answering because he had honestly expected questions about how he had gotten mixed up with the ‘wrong crowd’, as his mother would have called it. 

His answers, when he gives them, are vague. Just, ‘Pennsylvania’, and, ‘watch movies’. 

It’s been a while since anybody had asked these sorts of questions – he’s more used to, ‘where’s the cash, Toye?’ – and so he gives himself the benefit of the doubt and figures that he’s rusty.

They split the bill even and head out once dinner’s over. The night is mild and Joe feels the barest hint of a breeze against his skin as they head down the street. He’s gratified to see that Luz doesn’t slow down for him, because Luz knows he can keep up just fine.

Joe lets Luz lead them through the streets and they spend about an hour or so walking loops. 

Luz says, “Hey, let’s sit down for a bit, yeah?”

“Sure,” Joe says. The fact that they’re sitting at a feeble set of table and chairs outside an ice creamery he chooses not to comment on.

“You want anything?” Luz asks and Joe shakes his head. 

When Luz returns, it’s with a small vanilla cone. Joe has enough time to think, ‘at least it’s not a cigarette’, before Luz starts to eat and Joe watches for a grand total of five seconds then looks away. He looks back when Luz starts to crunch on the cone.

“You’re a lot quieter than when we used to hang out,” Luz says.

“What, you want me to tell you to fuck off and quit hittin on me again?”

Luz grins and dusts his hands. “Guess you have a point there.”

They sit for a while in silence, until Luz asks if Joe’s good to go. Joe nods and heaves himself up, quick to steady on his crutches. He pretends to miss the grin Luz shoots him and checks that his wallet and keys are in place. 

This time, when they walk, Luz sticks to his left side close enough for them to touch and Joe doesn’t say anything of it.

Its hours past the afternoon rush hour and the subway is quiet, but not dead. There’s a couple of loners and maybe one other pair who are huddled together on the furthest bench. Joe’s train is due to arrive ten minutes after Luz’s on opposite sides of the same platform. Joe hooks his hand in the arm rest of his crutches as Luz sits next to him, slouched and with his legs spread.

The announcement that comes from the speaker overhead tells them that Luz’s train is approaching in two minutes and Luz straightens.

Luz leans forward, elbows to his knees. “I’d kiss you right now, if you’d let me.”

Joe stares, then drops his focus to Luz’s mouth. He would let him, and Joe’s a little surprised, and also not really, to realise this. The concept still sits strangely though, and Joe glances away. 

Luz touches his knee against Joe’s own to draw back Joe’s attention. “I had fun,” he says.

“Yeah,” Joe says.

The sound of Luz’s train comes through the tunnel, followed by the squeal of breaks as it slows. Joe watches as Luz stands and his eyes drift to the sliver of skin that shows when Luz stretches upward. Luz’s grin his smug when Joe looks back up and he angles his chin without thinking about it, jaw steeled.

Luz bends and Joe almost, _almost_ misses what he says when the train grinds to a stop and the doors shuttle open. “I can’t wait until you wanna screw me.”

And then Luz straightens, curve of his mouth skimming against the sharp angle of Joe’s cheek before he says, “See you Monday, Toye!” still smug, and is gone.


	2. Jangled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe catches Luz before a meeting.

Joe gets to work a little past seven in the morning. He’s by no means the first one, but the office almost always is quiet when arrives. He heads to the kitchenette, tucked behind a large partition wall that’s studded with notes and designs.

Skip and Penkala had made a banner to run along the top of it, and Joe remembers Skip balanced on a wheeled chair to pin it up and Blithe fretting as he watched.

“Hey, Skip?” Blithe had said as he touched the arm of the chair. “Lemme get the step ladder before you break a leg or something.” – before he stopped and looked at Joe, horrified. 

Joe had just rolled his eyes.

The banner reads, ‘Cool Wall (ooh, icey)’. The ‘e’ is scribbled out, and then squashed back in (Joe also recalls Skip and Penkala arguing about there being an ‘e’), and it hangs lopsided in one corner where the paper had torn a bit. Skip makes noise about designing a new one to replace it, but it’s yet to happen.

Joe pauses at the kitchen doorway, then continues, the rubber feet of his crutches sticking a little to the linoleum. Luz stands in front of the coffee machine, a pod one that the office invested in half a year ago.

A column of brightly coloured pods stand in the tower beside it and Joe knows the red ones are for strong, and the white ones are for weak, and the five other colours are for everything else. Someone has slotted in the pods in alternating colours, which looks fancy enough until the colour you’re after is in the middle.

“Morning,” Luz says, offhand. He’s still fixated on the machine and Joe looks at it again.

“It broke or something?”

“Nah, it’s good. I’m just watching it go.”

They stare as it grinds and clicks and then dribbles a weak stream of coffee into the mug, and Luz perks when it’s finished; sweeps in and grabs it like he’s scared someone will beat him to it. Joe thinks, _my precious_ , like Luz is Gollum and his coffee is the ring.

“Anything in particular you find so funny?”

“Not really,” Joe says as he manoeuvres himself to the fridge to put his lunch inside. “What you all dressed up for?”

Dressed up for work is Luz wearing a tie and having his sleeves pulled down to his wrists. Joe’s seen it happen a couple of times. The ceiling lights reflect on Luz’s cuff links, two little circles of silver that Joe only notices then. Those are new.

“Meeting,” Luz says, and this time Joe hears it – the hint of nerves that skirts below the confidence in Luz’s voice. He’s never heard Luz nervous before. It doesn’t suit him.

Joe reaches before he thinks about it, tucks his crutch under his arm to catch the stiff cuff of Luz’s sleeve. His knuckles press against the underside of Luz’s wrist. 

He says, “Hey,” then, “you’ll be all right?”

Luz fucking beams, “Yeah,” he says, “sure will.”


	3. Skip's Below Sub Zero Fridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some say that he uses the freezer compartment to store his favourite CDs.

There’s a lull that happens after lunch and before knock-off time, when the entire office goes offline and the staff cluster at either water-fountain and coffee machine to chat before the final slog. 

From where he sits, Joe hears Perconte and Luz argue about football at the water fountain. Joe doesn’t have to see to know that Perconte’s arguing as he holds down the switch for water, and that he forgets he’s filling his glass halfway through. 

True to form, Perconte says, “Jesus Christ,” loud enough to halt conversation. It resumes a beat later, punctuated by Skip who’s cackling somewhere in another room. 

“Luz! Look what you made me do—“ 

Joe tunes out Perconte’s nasal whine and glances to his computer screen.

He’s got the figures up from their latest project – a glass studded masterpiece with a gold leaf patterned lobby. It’s ostentatious, but expected from the client. Most of FiveohSix call the business group ‘Goldfinger’. They’re bang on target, which is nice for a change, considering how wildly they had been flung off course the last two ventures.

He’s zoning out, chin propped on his hand as he stares at exactly nothing when Luz appears at his shoulder. Some part of Joe’s awareness registers the fact that Luz is there, because he can see and feel Luz’s presence in his peripheral, but he starts when Luz asks, “What you lookin at?”

Joe lifts his head to focus. “The fridge there.” 

Luz sets a mug of coffee by Joe’s computer. “Huh,” he says, “the below-sub-zero fridge?”

The mug is one of Luz’s, with I <3 NEW YORK running across the middle. There’s a bit of paint chipped off the heart and on the ‘O’, so it looks like it says, ‘I <3 NEW YUCK’. 

“Below-sub-zero?”

“Yeah,” Luz props his hip against Joe’s desk and cocks a grin at him. “You see how the Cool Wall is kinda organised into columns?--”

Joe’s never really noticed, but now he does see that there’s a definite grouping with very little overlap.

“It’s arranged into ‘seriously un-cool’, ‘un-cool’, ‘cool’, and ‘sub-zero’, right.” Luz pauses for coffee and adjusts his hold on his mug before he continues. “And before you think that it’s a smart idea or whatever, they stole it. Anyway, the fridge there—that’s for the stuff deemed ‘below-sub-zero’. Therefore, cooler. The _coolest_. Skip’s the one who maintains it and Penk helps out. Whatever they find that meets the criteria, they squirrel away.”

Joe’s not curious by nature and the ‘Cool Wall’ he understands. What he doesn’t get is actually installing a fridge to put things in that are deemed cooler than ‘sub-zero’. To Joe, it falls into the category of, ‘a bit much, for a joke’, and so he wants to know what’s in it.

He looks back up to Luz. “You tellin me that the fridge there is full of blueprints.”

Luz shrugs and sets down his mug besides Joe’s. “Some say—“

Joe narrows his eyes because he’s heard Skip talk in that same way before. It’s a very specific inflection, caught halfway between being incredulous and a downright lie, and whatever follows those two words usually confirms it.

“—that he uses the freezer compartment to store his favourite CDs.”

Joe stands and Luz fumbles. “Shit, Joe, I was only—“

He’s not listening as he stamps his way across the room with the one crutch and Luz tags after him. 

It’s a standard bar fridge with letter magnets stuck everywhere. Joe takes the time to read, ‘Skip’s Belw-Sub-Zer0 Fr1dge’ then he yanks the door open.

What greets him is a tub of yogurt and a wrapped sandwich. A lone spoon takes up an entire level and Joe reaches in to flip open the freezer section before he shuts the door. Luz has his fist jammed against his mouth by the time Joe turns to him, though it does nothing to hide his grin.

“Hey, guys?” Skip heads towards them from Lipton’s office, papers in hand. “I appreciate the visit'n all, but what’s up?”

“Just checking out your fridge,” Luz says as he nods to it. “Joe’s thinkin about buying one, but didn’t know if it was worth it. It keeps good temps, right?”

Skip brightens at the prospect of talking about the fridge and he moves to slide his free hand along the top of it, as if it were a car and not a white good. “Keeps damn good temps. I got her second hand and replaced the motor myself. Had to redo the seal as well,” he pats the top. “Saved myself a good hundred or so doin it.”

“Uh huh,” Luz edges a look to Joe. 

Skip says, “If you need a hand with a new one—“

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Joe says, “thanks.” He stamps back to his desk and sits.

Luz follows a little later. “Shit,” he says as they watch Skip give the bar fridge another appreciative pat. “Shit, that—he really likes that fridge.”


	4. He Doesn't Know Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George runs into Cobb.

“Do you know what time of women Joe likes?” someone says by George’s shoulder. 

George’s hands tighten on the magazine he’s holding and warps Sir Attenborough’s smile. 

Cobb continues, reaches out for the Time mag as he talks, casual. “Last girl he had was this tiny blonde. Killer body, man, you know the type. Like this one here,” Cobb flicks a finger to a fashion mag, where the model offers them a come hither look, smoky eyed with a lax mouth. 

“Yeah, she was hot. He’s got a thing for blondes, you know that? So I was wonderin like, before I saw you here, would she have stuck around,” Cobb says, “if Joe was a cripple, I mean. She’d probably stay initially, out of pity or whatever, I guess, but I dunno if that would be kinda her style—“

George slots the magazine back in place on the rack and stalks out of the store. He pulls the brim of his cap down low, hunches a little as he shoves his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his pullover. His plan to melt into the crowd fails him when Cobb jogs up and falls into step besides him. 

“Hey, man,” Cobb says it like he’s put out, but there’s too much of a smile on his words. “I’m just being friendly.” he indicates between them, “Mutual friend and all. I figure you should know a little about the guy.”

“Shit,” George says, “I know who he is and I know where he’s from. Anything you say to me means jack.”

“I’ve known Toye a long time,” Cobb says, “we go way back.”

The force of the crowd makes Cobb press against him, the narrow bulk up against George’s side. George jerks his shoulder and lets the crowd sweep ahead, hoping that Cobb goes with it. 

Cobb doesn’t, face smug as he tucks his hands into his jacket and says, “All right?” – as if they’re friends. 

The image of raw skin across Joe’s knuckles flash across George’s thoughts. It’s not a bad idea, but he tamps down on the urge and unclenches his fists. 

“Like I said,” Cobb starts again, once the crowd thins. “Amber. Before that was Casey. She was blonde, too. You get what I’m sayin?”

“So. What?” George says, “you telling me to get a dye job on the way home?”

“I’m just curious. Not saying that Toye was really in a position to meet women at the time, but the ones who managed to wriggle their way in,” Cobb shrugs, “He’s got a type.”

“Yeah, well.”

“What are you,” George can feel the faux analytical look Cobb gives him. As if it’s a hard guess as to what’s different between him and Joe’s type. “5'6''? 5'7''? Height’s bout right—“

“I think the answer you’re looking for is that I’ve got a dick,” George says. He had wanted to say cock, but averted last moment. They’re on a busy street, and there’s sure to be a kid or two skirting at knee height.

“There is that,” Cobb says, put out.

George shakes him off a while later, when it’s clear that he’s not playing whatever game that Cobb wants. Joe doesn’t owe him – or whoever Cobb reports back to – anything, but that doesn’t mean George wants the guy to follow him home.

It’s late by the time he makes it, and he’s in a foul mood. He had meant to see Joe, but the incident with Cobb had eaten too much time. George unclips his watch, sets it on the kitchen table and watches as the second hand glides in a smooth circle beneath the glass. 

He sets his cell beside it. No calls. No messages. George tucks his lower lip between his teeth and bites. No calls. No messages.

George swears, softly, under his breath. He rests his hands flat on the table, fingers spread before he straightens. He changes, makes dinner and watches it on the sofa, bowl balanced on his knee as he eats. He’s not sure what he’s watching, but he does wonder if the woman on screen – blond and tiny – would be Joe’s type.

The thought crosses his mind before George can stop it, and he concedes that, yes, he could see Joe interested in her. Dark eyes following the sway of her hips as she crosses the room to hand some documents to Winters.

The channel thankfully switches to an ad break before George pegs the remote, and he stands instead, moves across the room to set his bowl on the table. It makes a loud noise that he’s deaf to, cutlery cracking against porcelain as he grabs his cell. 

No calls. One message.

“Fuck,” George says, heart pistoning as he taps it open. “Please don’t be Skip.”

_You coming_

George grins enough for it to hurt. He starts a response and then pauses. _I ran into Cob_ — he deletes and starts again.

 _hey_ , George types. _got side-tracked_.

 _okay_ , Joe says.

George gives it a minute and sends, _coming over now_.

 _ok_ , Joe says. 

George decides to read the shortened version of the word as impatience. Joe wants him there. He sends back that he’ll cab it over, chances ‘babe’ pinned to the end of the text before he gathers his phone, keys and wallet.

Cobb doesn’t know shit.


End file.
